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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918875">Spirits</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CristinaNovak/pseuds/CristinaNovak'>CristinaNovak</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood &amp; Manga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Drinking, F/M, Fluff, Plot? What Plot?, Team Mustang-ness, kind of</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:27:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,083</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28918875</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CristinaNovak/pseuds/CristinaNovak</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the Colonel becomes progressively drunk, and therefore increasingly more prone to a love confession. Royai.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Riza Hawkeye &amp; Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang, RoyAi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>78</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Spirits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> 0 drinks </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a little bell by the door that keeps chiming when a person goes through it, followed by a bang when it swings closed. Each time this happens, his head automatically jerks toward the entrance and he can already feel his neck becoming stiff. How many people come into this bar anyway? </p>
<p>“Ooh, chief. You look like you need a drink,” Havoc is saying as he hangs his jacket on the back of his chair. The bell chimes once again and Mustang suppresses the urge to glance at the source of the noise by rubbing the side of his neck instead. The door bangs shut and he tries to ignore the funny look Breda is already giving him. </p>
<p>“I’m getting us a round. One, two…” Havoc points his index finger at each of the men sitting at the booth, until it lands on the empty bench space by Mustang’s side. He finally asks the question that has been drilling inside the Colonel’s head since the moment he sat down: “Wait, where’s Hawkeye?” and his eyes fall questioningly on him, as if he must know of her whereabouts. </p>
<p>“That’s strange,” Breda says while he rolls up his sleeve and glances at his watch. “She’s usually the one berating us for being late. She<em> did </em>say she was coming, right?”</p>
<p>“Maybe got held up on <em> other plans</em>?” Mustang doesn’t like the way Havoc said the last two words. The rest start snickering just as the godforsaken bell chimes again, and this time it is nearly impossible for him to avoid looking at the entrance door. It’s still not her. He can practically taste the disappointment on his tongue.</p>
<p>“Alright, alright, I’m sure she’ll get here,” he tries to sound as nonchalant as possible even though there’s a bitter taste in his mouth he’s trying to swallow. “How about those drinks, huh?” </p>
<p>He certainly needs one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 1 drink </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He tilts his head back and lets the last drops of his beer pour into his mouth. He’s half-listening to Havoc’s story about his latest romantic misadventure and half-wishing the alcohol helps him stop being so acutely aware of the empty seat beside him, which he’s starting to believe is a few degrees colder than the rest of the room. He tries not to think too much about Hawkeye getting <em> held up on other plans </em> either, and instead tries to refocus his attention on whatever Havoc is saying. </p>
<p>“So she tells me she’s not into military men,” Havoc gestures with his almost empty beer jar as he speaks over the unlit cigarette between his lips. “Which is funny, because I was actually in uniform when I asked her out in the first place.”</p>
<p>“Where in the world do you find these girls?” Breda asks between chuckles.</p>
<p>Havoc just shrugs and shakes his head, “it’s a blessing and a curse.”</p>
<p>“I would say it's more of a curse.”</p>
<p>Mustang’s heart takes a ridiculous little skip inside his chest that he decides to ignore. He turns his head maybe a little bit too quickly toward the person who just walked up to their table, and immediately feels something unclench inside of him. </p>
<p>“Well, well, well. Look who’s finally here.” Havoc folds his arms and looks up at Hawkeye, who now stands by his side with the thickest of scarves wrapped around her neck and part of her face. There are snowflakes sprinkled on her hair and shoulders, and the tip of her nose has turned pink from the cold.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry I'm late,” she says from behind the hem of her scarf as she starts to pull it off. She automatically takes the empty seat beside Mustang, who helps her finish unwrapping the ridiculously thick garment from around herself and hangs it next to his own coat. “I was trapped inside my building. The snow toppled a tree right across the entryway.”</p>
<p>She sighs and leans her head against the back of the bench. She hasn't taken her heavy winter coat off, which is probably why she hasn’t noticed that her shoulder is currently pressed against Mustang’s, wedging him between the wall at the end of the booth and herself. Not that he’s complaining. </p>
<p>“Can you believe this weather?” Falman tells her from across the table. “East City’s heaviest snow in eleven years. Is everything alright at your building?”</p>
<p>“Yes, we got help from neighbors and some municipal officers came to remove the tree. Thankfully, there was no serious damage to the building or any of the cars.”</p>
<p>“This damn snow, huh? The Colonel here was about to assemble a squad just to go looking for you.” Havoc nods toward his superior officer and sends him a little annoying smirk.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I don’t think your week off is sitting him well,” Breda decides to contribute.</p>
<p>“Lots of unfinished paperwork.” Falman pointedly doesn’t meet his eye but takes a sip of his beer instead.</p>
<p>“And that meeting with General Halcrow–” Fuery starts to chime in before Mustang interrupts by setting his empty beer jar a little too forcefully against the table. </p>
<p>“How about another round, huh?” He tries to sound casual but the suggestion comes through gritted teeth. His men snicker at his discomfort and he would be much more annoyed if he hadn’t caught the smallest of grins tugging at Hawkeye’s lips. She tries to hide it by pretending to be very focused on unbuttoning her coat, but it’s too late; it has already spread a certain warmth into the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 3 drinks </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s beginning to feel that faint tickle on his chest and that fuzzy feeling on his limbs; he’s not yet tipsy but not completely sober either. The faint music and chatter buzz in his ears like warm cotton, and he laughs at some terrible joke Breda is telling before downing the last ounces of his third beer. Hawkeye beside him has opted for a glass of wine that is making her lips turn slightly red and her cheeks a faint pink, which under his current stupor, he’s beginning to appreciate. Havoc is about to stand up to get another round for the rest when Shirley, the waitress that his men swear is not the reason they tend to frequent this particular bar, saunters to their booth. Her approach makes Havoc fall right back down on his chair and the cigarette drop from his lips. He manages to catch it around his lap before it reaches the floor.</p>
<p>“How is East City’s golden unit doing?” she chirps and shoots a charming smile toward each member of the table, including Hawkeye, who is the only one not currently googly-eyed. “Can I get you anything? We have this new whiskey from Aerugo you should definitely try.” </p>
<p>The men all nod and agree to have a bottle of the unknown drink, and Mustang is pretty sure they would have agreed just as gladly even if she were offering them chimera piss. She winks before walking away, and they almost twist their necks to watch her go until she’s back behind the bar. Mustang thinks he catches Hawkeye stifling an eye-roll before taking a sip of her wine.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m gonna ask her.” Havoc seems to have come out of a trance when he turns back to the rest of them. He plants his fists on the table and decidedly says, “I’m gonna ask Shirley to go out with me.”</p>
<p>“You say that every time we come here,” Breda says, and Mustang can practically picture him bursting the eager bubble that is Havoc with a single finger. “At this rate, I will ask her out before you do. In fact, I think I will.” He runs a hand through his hair and briefly looks toward the bar.</p>
<p>“But everyone knows it’s the Colonel she has a crush on,” Fuery glances over his shoulder at the woman before turning back. He finds Havoc shooting him a glare so sharp it could almost rival Hawkeye’s aim, but he just shrugs. “What? She gave him her number last time we were here.” </p>
<p>Now it’s Mustang’s turn to roll his eyes. </p>
<p>“That was different.” Which it was; she <em> had </em> given him her number, along with a familiar coded message at the bottom of the paper. Not that they needed to know that, for now.</p>
<p>“He’s just saying that because the Lieutenant is here,” Falman manages to once again pointedly say without even looking at him, and instead stares at the foam at the bottom of his jar. Mustang notices Hawkeye stiffen beside him for a split second before she brings the glass of wine to her lips again.</p>
<p>“The Lieutenant knows that’s not the case.” He claps his hands together and an idea starts concocting inside his head. “In fact, we should make this interesting.”</p>
<p>“Colonel…” Hawkeye says warningly, but he ignores her. Maybe there’s more alcohol in his system than he thought.</p>
<p>“Both of you should try to ask Shirley out,” he begins. “Whoever fails to get a date must take care of all of my late paperwork from this week.”</p>
<p>Perhaps they are all considerably inebriated, because Havoc and Breda exchange a look before shrugging and agreeing to the challenge. Hawkeye, on the other hand, just sets her wine glass on the table and brings her fingers to her temple, as if to stop an oncoming headache.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 5 drinks </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You should try this whiskey, Lieutenant. It’s actually pretty good.”</p>
<p>He swivels the tumbler between his fingers and stares as the ice cubes clink against each other. He’s currently sprawled on the bench and his eyes lag each time he looks in a different direction, so he prefers not moving them around too much. The tickling on his chest has intensified and spread throughout his entire body like a warm, overflowing current.</p>
<p>“You should not make a bet out of your unfinished paperwork, sir,” she answers instead, not exactly chiding although by now he can recognize almost anything in her voice.</p>
<p>“Oh, come on.” He drags his eyes up to meet the sideway glance she’s giving him. She’s sitting much straighter than him by his side and her lips are familiarly pursed. He sets his glass on the table and straightens too until he’s sitting at her same level. He tugs the side of her arm and says, “look at them, they’re having fun!” </p>
<p>He leans his shoulder against hers to get a better view of the bar, where both Havoc and Breda are currently talking their way out of extra paperwork with the ever-charming Shirley. She giggles at both of their advances as she polishes empty glasses and organizes them on a shelf, clearly not understanding their sudden attentions.</p>
<p>He settles back on his seat but stops from sliding any further, and instead keeps his arm leaning softly against hers. He thinks he can feel her particular warmth escape through the fabric of her sweater, permeate his jacket, and spread right along his own skin. Her knee bumps against his thigh under the table and he admits to himself he’s a little tipsy.</p>
<p>“You know what…” Fuery’s voice seems to pull him out of a small trance and back into this booth. He blinks, and his eyelids feel definitely heavier than usual. “I have this feeling that both of them will end up doing your late paperwork, sir.”</p>
<p>Falman chuckles and claps him on the back while Mustang snorts lightly through his nose and takes a sip of his whiskey. He looks over to Hawkeye and finds her softly shaking her head and hiding a grin behind the rim of her wine glass before finishing the last ounce of it. Her lips are red when she presses them together to swallow and when she softly runs her tongue over them. His mouth suddenly becomes as dry as a desert.</p>
<p>“I need to use the restroom, Lieutenant,” he tells her maybe too seriously. She frowns but just slides out of the booth to let him out.</p>
<p>He bumps into her as he stands up and realizes he’s slightly tipsier than he originally thought. She grabs him by his forearms very briefly, as if to steady him, and the warmth from before intensifies and spreads from the spots where she touched him like some sort of tide. He manages to catch a whiff of something floral as she moves to sit back down and he’s left there wondering why he stood up in the first place. </p>
<p>Right, the restroom.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 6 drinks </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Havoc and Breda return with such defeated looks on their faces they could’ve been coming back from an actual battlefield. In fact, this is how Falman and Fuery welcome them back to the table; with sympathetic pats on the back and encouraging, albeit ironic, words. They don’t share much as they each retake their seats and pour more whiskey into their empty glasses. </p>
<p>“Told you. She has it for the Colonel,” Fuery insists before sipping his own drink.</p>
<p>“So how are you going to split it?” Mustang fails at stopping his enjoyment from seeping into his voice while he swivels the whiskey on his hand. “Fifty-fifty? Sixty-forty?”</p>
<p>“You see Hawkeye,” Breda tells the Lieutenant. “This is what happens when you take days off.” Havoc, on the other hand, just folds his arms and huffs. </p>
<p>“I see,” she says, and Mustang doesn’t expect her to follow up with anything else but she nonetheless adds, “apparently, it suits him perfectly well. I should do this more often.”</p>
<p>He hears the rest of the table suck in their breaths and Havoc actually lets out an <em> ‘oof’</em>. He glances at her and frowns. She’s holding her third glass of wine perfectly still on the table with her fingers placed over its base, but when she looks back at him he realizes her eyes seem somewhat unfocused and glazed over. He gets the feeling she’s not entirely sober herself.</p>
<p>“Are you joking?” Despite the alcohol currently running through his own system, he manages to sound serious. “Lieutenant, you deserve your days off more than anyone. But if I’m being honest, it’s awful without you around. Not only do I start slacking off, I literally feel like…” he’s surprised at his own bluntness, but abruptly remembers where he is and stops himself. He clears his throat. “We appreciate having you in the office, is what I mean,” he finishes instead and proceeds to take a gulp of his whiskey, as if it would make him shut up instead of the entire opposite.</p>
<p>“Aww, chief.”</p>
<p>Before he turns to glare at Havoc, he imagines he catches a touch of pink on Hawkeye’s cheeks. Something inside his stomach flips. Perhaps just the alcohol.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 7 drinks </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They end up splitting the check evenly after Shirley brings it to them and apologizes about having to kick them out for closing time. He was planning on asking her out for coffee sometime (to talk about her connections to Central, specifically) but when he remembers, he has too much alcohol in his system to play it cool and Hawkeye is guiding him to the door with a hand on his back that feels solid and reliable and nice. So he can’t, at present, care. </p>
<p>He flicks the little bell by the door as he exits through it, hearing its annoying chime one last time, and he stumbles over a pile of snow stacked by the entrance steps. A steady arm grabs him around his elbow to help him stabilize and he finds Hawkeye’s familiar warmth and weight against his torso. She looks up at him and she has that absurdly huge scarf wrapped around her neck again. </p>
<p>“Lieutenant, let me take you home,” he tells her, as if he’s currently capable of either walking all the way to her apartment or making himself sober in an instant out of pure will. He extends his hand toward her face, like he’s trying to fix a hair behind her ear or something, but ends up thinking better of it and just giving a small tug to her thick scarf instead. </p>
<p>“I think I’m the one taking you home, sir,” she answers him, and uses the arm hooked around his elbow to steer him to the sidewalk where the others are already saying their goodbyes and walking in their own directions.“Besides, your apartment is closer than mine.”</p>
<p>“What if another tree fell on your entryway?” He says as they start to walk along the quiet East City street.</p>
<p>“You think you would be able to move it?” she asks, and her words condense into the chilly night air like tiny clouds of white smoke. “Like this?” She runs her eyes from the top of his head to his feet and back, making a point.</p>
<p>“I could burn it.” </p>
<p>“I’m not letting you burn a tree, sir.” </p>
<p>They walk in silence for the next block before turning at the corner, where a soft, cold breeze wafts past them and almost threatens to turn them into a pair of icicles. He shudders before sensing Hawkeye huddling against him to brace herself from the cold, so he unhooks his arm from around her elbow and places it over her shoulders, bringing her closer. She places her arm around his lower back instead, to keep him from stumbling, although the low temperature is doing a wonderful job at sobering him up quicker than usual. </p>
<p>The breeze is gone as they turn around the next corner, but neither let go.</p>
<p>“Shirley. That waitress,” he starts saying, perhaps because he is not entirely sober yet. </p>
<p>“She was pretty cute.” </p>
<p>“She’s part of the network.” His words come out faster than he expected and he suddenly feels some urgent need to excuse himself with Hawkeye. “I didn’t… I never…”</p>
<p>“I figured,” she tells him calmly, because of course she did. “But you don't need to tell me this, sir. It’s alright.” </p>
<p>“I want to tell you.”</p>
<p>She doesn’t answer anything, and instead he’s left staring at the vapor that swirls in front of her face when she breathes out, and how it spreads and disappears into the night. He realizes they’re already on his street. </p>
<p>“I meant what I said, you know,” he continues and he’s not sure if it’s the cold, or the alcohol, or her closeness, or perhaps the three things combined, that’s keeping him from just shutting up.</p>
<p>“Which is?” She doesn’t look at him, and her eyes scan their surroundings instead, as if searching for the building where his apartment is, as if she doesn’t perfectly know which one it was already.</p>
<p>“It sucks when you’re not around, Lieutenant. In the office. In other places. Anywhere, really.”</p>
<p>“I enjoy your company too, Colonel.” She’s still not looking at him even though she is so, so close. </p>
<p>“It’s not that. It’s–”</p>
<p>“We’re here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> 7 drinks </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> 2 glasses of water </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It isn’t until he starts gulping down his first glass of water that he realizes how thirsty he actually is. The last drops slide down his throat and he immediately fills the glass again before downing it just as quickly. He finally sighs, sets the glass by the sink, and wipes his lips with his sleeve. He leans against the counter behind him, his palms on the edge of it, and he can already feel the beginnings of a hangover start pulling at his seams.</p>
<p>“Lieutenant,” he says and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. “Remind me to never drink with those guys again.”</p>
<p>“I will. Although you always say the same thing, Colonel.” He can’t see her but her voice floats from the dark living room. </p>
<p>“Then remind me to never drink Aerugan whiskey again.”</p>
<p>“Copy that.” She emerges from the darkness, her coat and scarf hanging from one of her arms. She walks into the kitchen area and sets her garments on the table before coming to stand by his side. She leans against the counter on one of her hips and her arms fold over her chest. She looks up at him and asks, “how are you?”</p>
<p>“Drunk,” he admits simply. “I’ll survive, though.”</p>
<p>She exhales through her nose as if she’s suppressing a chuckle and the corners of her lips turn up; they’re still tinted slightly red from the wine she drank at the bar. She fixes a strand of hair behind her ear and he realizes it’s longer now; it falls on the sides of her face and lightly brushes her collarbone, which is visible just for a few inches before her skin disappears under the neck of her black sweater. He stifles the urge to run his thumb along it, to see how she reacts.</p>
<p>“It seems you’re all set.” She interrupts his reverie and he just grunts and nods. “I’ll see you on Monday at the office, sir. I want to check that unfinished paperwork. And the filed paperwork, too.”</p>
<p>She pushes herself away from the counter, straightens, and is already turning to leave when his hand apparently moves under its own accord and goes to her upper arm. He doesn’t grab her or pull her, in fact he is barely touching her, but it's enough to make her stop and turn back.</p>
<p>Her eyes look at his hand on her arm and then shift to his face, as if she can’t fathom they belong to the same person. He catches a hint of perplexity in her expression that seems unlike her. Her brown irises are still slightly glassy and her stained lips are already starting to say something when he smashes his own against them. </p>
<p>Perhaps he was too eager, too strong, but at least she doesn’t pull back. Instead she keeps very still and he’s not really sure what to do next. He’s not convinced he’s even breathing anymore and she seems to hold her own breath, too. He’s been feeling scattered for a while now but in that moment he becomes fiercely aware; of her warm lips, motionless against his own; of the floral perfume she’s wearing and the familiar scent of gunsmoke he finds underneath it; of the faint sound of the gas lamps flickering around them. </p>
<p>What is probably two seconds stretch into eternity before she finally kisses him back. The motion revives him and sparks his blood almost like alchemy seems to do sometimes and he can taste red wine on his tongue. His hands had stayed very still on her elbows, but he now allows them to run up her arms and past her shoulders. He lets his fingers trace every inch of her collarbone, hidden under the fabric of her sweater, before climbing up her neck, finally feeling her skin and reaching the tips of her hair, much longer than he remembers. One of his hands tightens around it and the other goes to the small of her back to bring her impossibly closer, feeling a concealed gun under her clothes, wondering how many more he would find on her if he could only…</p>
<p>She gasps against his mouth and places a hand on his chest that feels like a newly erected barrier, as cold as Fort Briggs itself. It’s his turn to freeze before he pulls back, but he keeps his nose very close to hers and feels her ragged breaths against his lips.</p>
<p>He wants to kiss her again so badly it almost physically hurts, but instead he just says, “you seem conflicted.” His hands loosen from around her hair and back and come to rest at her shoulders.</p>
<p>“You seem drunker than I thought,” she replies. Her hand is still on his chest, softer now, milder. Her index finger taps one of the buttons of his shirt.</p>
<p>“I…” He knows she’s right, and his hands run down to her elbows and then drop to his sides. He stares at a spot somewhere around her neck, unable to look directly into her eyes. “You’re right, Lieutenant. But it’s not just that, I… you know that I–”</p>
<p>“I know, Colonel.” </p>
<p>He finally meets her eyes and feels something tightening in his throat. She brings the hand that was on his chest up to his cheek and holds it there, warm and sure. He leans into her palm and suddenly feels extremely tired. She gives him a very tiny smile, almost like an imperceptible tug of her lips, but it is distinctly reflected in her eyes. He meets her hand with his own. </p>
<p>“Okay,” is all he replies. “Alright, Lieutenant.” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been writing a lot of angst lately, so I decided to write this instead. It ended up getting a little bit angsty, though. I can't seem to help it.</p>
<p>I don't think there's a secret relationship between Mustang and Hawkeye when it comes to canon, but I have this theory (headcanon?) that they must've kissed at least once at some point. Idk.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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